He’s having a tougher time getting around lately: his get-up-and-go has been running a bit rusty and boy, do his dogs get tired. How did this happen? And when? What’s a fellow to do when the years catch up all at once and insist on giving him wedgies?

There’s always the old standby for men of a certain age:

what?

The sports car. The shiny, new red sports car.

Maybe a little red Corvette?

Things seemed to be zooming in that direction until Hank’s Very Favorite Person (always the voice of reason) gave him four words to chew on: cliché, insurance, speeding tickets.

Back to the drawing board.

Now, it’s no secret that Hank’s always hankered for aconvertible. Wind through the ears, freedom of the road, the need for speed…you know da kine, McQueen.

wheeeeeeee!

Or….a motorcycle.

Hank’s yearly birthday wish. Hank’s taste runs towards the classics so an old Triumph Bonneville TR6 would be right up his alley. Maybe that 1952 Vincent Black Lightning? Come to think of it, an old Indian might be cool…

…or maybe that Norton Commando…

Heck, Hank wouldn’t mind a Ural with a sidecar.

Hello, handsome.

Oh, life as a sidecar dog.

Hank has a scooter-sized budget though, so these options weren’t looking good. In fact, it was all looking grim.

Grim.

Hank’s considered bringing draft horses back to Ballard. Heck yeah! But as he looked at his piggybank and then again at his back forty he sadly came to the conclusion that he’s a bit old and his backyard’s a bit small for Budweiser and Clydesdales.

Plus, laws.

What-oh-what could get Hank back in the saddle without actually getting his old bones back in a saddle?

Yes.

To be fair, this little number is a bit more Buick than Bitchin’ Camaro and it doesn’t go zero-to-sixty in any number of seconds but it suits Hank’s piggybank. And it came with a driver.

Dear Hank, Well I’ll be darned – You seem to be getting along and going places because of your driver’s ingenuity. I too have been learning about what a beast has to go through at age 16 or thereabouts. I have actually begun to realize that I am what my driver calls – a CAT!! We moved into these new digs and these creatures keep coming around MY place without asking. My favorite time to roam is during the night especially under a “super” moon but that exquisite pleasure has been marred by a black and white furry thing that assumes the right to come purposely into MY territory and fight! I have never in my life had to fight or hiss or spray but I am learning to do those behaviors and for an old dude am not half bad. There is a hitch though, There is one of those furry things that comes around who refuses to be annoyed by my hissing and growling. She is of all things ORANGE. My driver calls her Orange kitty. I have always been called kitty so I assume we are the same kind of persons. But I don’t really know what designates girl or boy except that the boy type likes to fight. The black and white one must be a boy. Good Grief! How complex this new world is.

Yes, Sean Connery. Yes. A dreadful, dreadful thing that happened and I’m sorry to subject the world to it (again).

Hank has no such compunction, however. He thinks it’s hilarious!

Thanks for the link BTW – rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ indeed! It makes a nice pairing with live BBC Scotland news…amazing to be witnessing this historic event, even from afar. Ninety seven percent turnout! WOW.

Hank hears you, little grasshopper. He and Ol’ Brown used to be bothered to no end by furry, masked bandits but now he can’t hear them as they parade by his window at 2am, so it’s much less annoying for everyone. Like you, his ranch is also plagued by those Ginger Avengers, and he has this to share: the Gingers are boys, too.

As for that B&W character, be wary: Pepé Le Pew may find you irrésistible!

Oh, my eyeballs, is that truly Sean Connery?! Please, Hank, say it isn’t!! Love your choice of wheels – I am just about to head into Edinburgh and this form of transport would suit me fine along Princes Street. And the Saltire too – perfect!! I’m putting in an order! 🙂